


Forgotten Girl

by timaeusTestifying



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timaeusTestifying/pseuds/timaeusTestifying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garry gets out. Ib doesn't. Garry doesn't remember.<br/>Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgotten Girl

_"Ib-! Come here now! I'm your_ mother _."_

_"No! Ib, please! We can get out of here! She's not real!"_

_He watched she looked from him to what seemed to be a copy of her mother. He could see her struggle to choose who to go to. He couldn't watch this. Not after all they had been through. Not after everything that had happened._

_"Ib,_ please _!"_

_"Ib! Listen to mommy!"_

_He reached out for her, trying to grab her hand as she took a step away from him. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. He stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes as she grabbed the wicked creation's hand and walked away._

_This couldn't be real._

\- -

"Garry?"

He looked up from the book he was reading and over to his room mate. She was a close friend and a beautiful woman with soft skin and long brown hair. For some reason, lately he looked over her with a familiar fondness. Not the kind that she seemed to be after, but one that brought a gentle buzz in his chest. It was odd, since this hadn't happened when they first decided to move in with one another.

"What is it, Isabelle?"

"You know, you've been acting down ever since you visited that art museum."

An eyebrow of his arched slightly as he marked his page before closing his book. "How do you figure?"

She sighed and sat on the love seat beside him. "You've been staying in more. Speaking less. You're more reserved. What, did that exhibit shine some enlightening philosophy on you?" She gave him a teasing smile before leaning her head on her hand.

Garry furrowed his brows in thought. He had never really dedicated much time to think about his mood since then. He didn't even figure why. He only gave a shrug as he pulled his reading glasses off. "Frankly, I don't quite remember." He felt as if he should have, though. It was as if he was a violin and there was a string being plucked at; it wasn't quite breaking, though. Sometimes it felt like it would. Times when he looked at Isabelle. Times when he stared at porcelain dolls too long while window shopping. Times when he leaned in to smell roses at the local bouquet shop. A string was always pulled, but never broken. 

"It mustn't have been too important, then." She said as she got up. There was still worry in her body language, but it also looked as if she knew she wasn't getting any more information out of him. Almost as if she was giving up. "By the way. The dry cleaner called. Your coat is ready."

\- -

"Here's your coat, sir. And there were a bunch of items in your pocket. We took them all out and put them in this bag."

Garry smiled and bowed his head lightly before taking the bag and placing it in his grocery bag. "Thank you."

He walked along the foggy sidewalk and avoided any puddles that he came across. As he got to his apartment, he grabbed the mail and struggled to open the door while holding his coat and the groceries. He put all his bags down on the counter and shuffled through the mail. Isabelle was already home, coming out of her room with a brush in her hair.

"Do me a favour and sort the groceries, will you?" He said as he eyed bills after bills.

She hummed in acknowledgment and put food in the fridge or the cabinets. She came across the bag from the dry cleaners and eyed it. "What's all this? More of your junk."

"It's not junk, Isabelle. Haven't you ever heard, _one man's trash is another man's treasure_?" 

Isabelle gave a laugh and held up the bag. "Oh please. There are only a bunch of pennies and candy wrappers in here. There are only a few things here people would ever consider to be treasures, and even I still think it's junk. Just your average hoarding. I mean, I don't expect anything less than that from you."

Garry rolled his eyes and looked up from the paper. "Will you just put it in a nice place in my room?"

"Along with all your other junk? Sure." She gave a sweet smile before going to do so.

\- -

"Ah- goddammit all." The man held his hand tightly to try to prevent the blood from leaking out. He had bought a bouquet of roses on whim and had forgotten all about the thorns. He mindlessly grabbed out and had cuts all over his palm and fingers.

"Look at you, so thoughtless. Can't you think for once?" Isabelle had been carrying a rather large vase. She placed it down and hurried over to his side to inspect the damage. "Oh, that's not that bad at all."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less."

She gave an overly dramatic sigh. "Hold on, then..." She looked around the room for awhile; it was sloppy and if it weren't for her, Garry's room would be a complete diaster. Finally, she had seemed to find what she was looking for. She hurried to the bathroom and came back with what seemed to be a damp cloth.

Garry took it and wrapped it over his hand. "Thank you." He said with a small smile before looking down. His smile faded  and he inspected the piece of cloth Isabelle had gotten out of his room. It was a silk handkerchief. "Where did you get this?"

"It's yours, isn't it! You came back with it after you came from the dry cleaner's a week or two ago."

He frowned and looked at it closer. There were but two letters embroidered onto it, but it wasn't initials. Ib, it said. For a second, Garry had no idea where he had aquired such a thing.

That is, until a string of the violin in his memory broke.

He grabbed the handkerchief tightly in his bleeding hand and used the other one to cover his mouth. He felt as if there was a large pit in his mouth. His eyes stung and his knees gave. Soon he was on his knees and crying silently.

"Garry! Garry, what is it? What's gotten into you?"

He didn't answer. His head lowered along with his heart and soul. The only words he was able to sob out was,

_"Oh, Ib... Why."_

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long time since I've watched an LP of Ib. (I haven't played it myself because I tend to panic and freak out when playing horror games...)  
> So if I get something wrong, pardon me, and do tell me! I think I'm good, though.


End file.
